


On the Critical Importance of Sleeves for Solo Vigilantes

by orphan_account



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Bunker Sex, Ex Sex, F/M, Near Death Experiences, Playing Doctor, arrow season 4.5, no happy ending unless it happens in canon, not a reconciliation fic, retrospective speculation, spec fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 23:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10261247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Near-death experiences are a powerful aphrodisiac.  Also, Felicity really doesn't like being the only medical backup. Season 4.5. Not the good kind of explicit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Arrow 5.20 spoilers.

The first thing Felicity noticed when Oliver stepped out of the elevator was the blood.

“Oliver! Why didn’t you say anything about being hurt?” She frowned at his right arm, trying to see where the blood was coming from. Somewhere below his shoulder, maybe?

“It’ll be ok. I’ve had worse.” He headed for the med table. “But I think the bullet might still be in there.”

Felicity followed him, pausing only to grab supplies and pull on gloves. “Sit,” she commanded. Not that it was necessary. Oliver was already sitting. 

He held his arm out obediently so she could wipe it off. He was right. Something was in there. Felicity gritted her teeth and plunged the foreceps into the wound. She hated this part – rooting around under Oliver’s skin, hoping she didn’t miss anything. She wiped more blood away, and then...

“There.” She showed Oliver the bullet. “You didn’t say he had a gun.”

“I was busy disarming him,” Oliver replied.

“And you didn’t have any backup,” Felicity finished. “Oliver, you can’t keep doing this alone.”

“I’m not alone....” Normally, he finished that sentence with “You’re here.” But this time, he slumped to his side.

Felicity barely caught him before he slid off the med table. “No. No. No no no no no... Oliver, don’t do this....” She tried to silence the pounding of her own heart, so she could listen for his.

Her glasses fogged up. On the outside. Oliver was still breathing.

Felicity eased him back, cursing his stubborn idiocy. She needed to attach the leads for the heart monitor before she could assess what else was wrong, and that meant getting him out of his shirt. She undid the jacket, then tried to tear his shirt apart. _Stupid shirt is as stubborn as he is_ , she thought as she dug through the supplies for a pair of fabric shears. He must have deliberately worn rippable clothing while they were traveling, last summer.

She swore softly, maybe at the shirt, maybe at the memories, and attached the heart monitor. Weak, but steady. So still not dead. Good.

The wound wasn’t bleeding much. Was that good or bad? Felicity frowned and dabbed away the remaining blood.

There was a faint whitish residue in the wound. Poison? It could be poison.

Felicity washed the wound again, double-checked the heart monitor, and then went looking for Oliver’s old wooden chest. There. Beside the refrigerator with the extra blood. She opened the top, pushed aside the vodka bottle, and pulled out the bag with the magic island herbs.

There was a mortar and pestle in the cabinet on the other side of the medical supplies. Below the syringes, above the defibrillator. She grabbed some thread and a needle, too, just in case.

Grind the herbs first, then add water. John had drilled that into her years ago. Then hold the stupid bowl to his stupid lips and hope that it worked.

She counted to five before Oliver coughed and spluttered back to consciousness.

His eyes blinked open as he pushed himself back to sitting. Felicity took what might have been her first breath in an hour. Had it been an hour? It felt like it.

“Thank you,” Oliver said, pulling the leads off his chest.

Felicity shook her head, wobbling suddenly in her heels as exhaustion hit. Oliver was on his feet instantly, pushing her onto the med table in his place.

“Are you ok?” He stood close, examining her carefully.

“Yeah.” Her hand fluttered by her side. “Adrenaline was here, and then gone.”

Oliver nodded. “Just sit for a moment.”

She frowned. “Oliver, you’re the one who was shot. And poisoned! You should be the one sitting.” He was still leaning towards her, hands on her arms. His pupils were dilated. Wasn’t that a symptom of something?

His eyes flickered to her lips and back, and Felicity remembered what it was a symptom of.

She stared back for what felt like days. Then she grabbed his head and pulled it down.

For a moment, there were just lips. And then a tongue. And the familiar roughness of his stubble against her chin. And then Oliver’s hands on her face, finger sliding down that space behind her ear, and something inside shuddered with the memory of hundreds of past orgasms.

She reached out to try to loosen his pants.

He took his hands from her face, just for a moment, to push his pants down.

She pushed up her skirt, half lifted herself from the table, and shoved her underwear down. He reached around and held her steady as she fumbled to get free.

And then she was half sliding off the table, legs wrapped around him, and he was pushing back, shifting the angle until he could slide in.

Neither one said a word. 

But Oliver never took his eyes off hers. She knew, because she never looked away.

And then with a pant and a gasp, everything exploded.

Not literally exploded. Though that would have been pretty typical of their relationship, she thought.

Oliver leaned his head against hers. “Felicity,” he murmured.

Felicity breathed in. Out. In. Oliver smelled like sweat and gunpowder and antiseptic.

Finally, she shook her head against his.

“You could have died,” she said. “Oliver, I was going to leave early. You said you had it handled. I didn’t even know you were in danger.”

He breathed against her glasses. “I didn’t die.”

“This time.” Felicity pushed him back. He had blood in his hair from where she had grabbed it. “You were alone out there.” She touched his arm gingerly. “You don’t even have sleeves.”

He huffed a laugh. “We can ask Cisco to design something with sleeves next time.”

Felicity glared at him. “It’s not funny, Oliver.” She turned away, reaching for her underwear.

He sighed. “Look. John’s gone. Thea doesn’t want to be out there. What do you want me to do?”

“Not this,” Felicity said. The words hung in the air between them.

Oliver looked at her, frowning, trying to make out her meaning. “Not getting shot out there, this? Or...?”

“Or any of it.” Felicity hopped off the med table and headed for her computers, stripping off the gloves as she walked. “You should get cleaned up. I mean... get that blood cleaned off before I sew you up.”

She didn’t look back until she finally heard the water running in the shower. Then she started typing a message to Cisco. 

 _Oliver could really use some sleeves_ , her message ended. _Something with armor. Lots of armor._

She stared at the screen for a few moments, then pressed _send_ and opened a new window. 

 _https://starcitysingles.com_ , she typed into the browser. 

Maybe she needed some armor of her own.


End file.
